rooms

Grandmother's voice crackled through the phone from Chennai, reciting Avvaiyar's verses she'd memorized seventy years ago. My Toronto apartment felt smaller then, walls closing in with homesickness. I'd left seeking success, chasing accolades my parents celebrated. The promotions came. The rewards accumulated. Yet something vital remained locked away. That evening, I translated those ancient Tamil poems for my daughter. Her eyes widened, connecting to ancestors she'd never met. The room transformed into something sacred. Success, I finally understood, wasn't measured in achievements alone. It lived in teaching her our language, our wisdom, our belonging. Some rewards transcend recognition.